


Interstices

by sparklefox



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklefox/pseuds/sparklefox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the years following the Qunari attack, the forced collaboration between the Knight-Commander and the Champion evolves into something else. Meredith/f!Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The doors we open

_I don't see your face anywhere._   
_Gone._   
_Left the world in our care and I'm not waiting._   
_Everyday, I try to be part of it._   
_My mind elsewhere._   
_No greater lands, no promises._   
_Here and now, heaven._   
_But my mind… elsewhere._   
_I'm struggling. I'm dreaming. Let there be earth beneath my feet._   
_And I can't beg for it._

Light-headed, she rose from the bench. She couldn't tell, sometimes, whether she'd fallen asleep or in prayer. Revolving lights, creeping shadows and dwindling candles — hours, or no time at all, had passed her by.

She reached the bottom of the marble stairs, fingertips trailing lightly along the railing, and responded to the sisters' discreet greetings with a nod. Ritual. Morning, after morning, after morning. Dozens of shivering lights melting at the feet of Andraste's statue. She spotted her own, modest one, about two hours shorter than when she had placed it. A mute prayer of sorts, in case words failed her.

A flock of birds burst into flight when the heavy door closed behind her. They circled the everburning brazier, pale in the rising sun, and scattered between rooftops. Isabela was waiting, leaning against a pillar.

"I was so sure I'd catch you before you holed up in here. I got up early just for that. Not early enough, apparently."

Lily blinked away the fog that clung to her every thought, restful and dangerous, and fought to find a word or two. They came out wrong, slow, stilted. "Good morning, Isabela."

The woman gave her that look, ironic and gentle, as she followed her down the stairs and across the courtyard.

"You might want to come to the Hanged Man tonight. Everybody will be there, which means Varric will regale us with tales of your exploits if you're not. You don't want that."

Lily nodded. "Is there a special occasion?"

"No, not really. So you're coming? Balls, if I'd known it would take so little persuading, I'd have left a note on your desk instead of waiting out here for an hour."

Lily gave her a questioning look. "I usually come when you all get together."

"I know," Isabela shrugged, "but you  _are_  turning into a bit of a reclusive scholar. I read one of your essays, you know. Saw it on the table at Fenris's, got curious. I can't believe you managed to make Darktown sound appealing."

"The architecture," Lily corrected, letting the playfulness in Isabela's voice ebb away. Lily never joked. From the corner of her eye, she caught Isabela's glance.

"Anyway, setting Varric's delicate literature aside, I don't read much. A twenty-page treaty on Kirkwall's architecture isn't something I would have pictured myself enjoying, but I did. It was interesting. Unexpected."

"How so?"

Isabela chewed on her lower lip for a moment. "The thing about light wells in the dust, and shadows, how they sculpt what you see in Darktown. I don't know, it moved me. Why did you write about that, of all things?"

"Because it moved me, too."

Isabela said nothing. They reached the Hawke estate, with its unmistakable ivy-covered façade. Lily knocked on the door, waiting for Bodahn to come and open it for her. "Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? Orana has been trying new blends lately," she offered.

Isabela chuckled, shaking her head. "Come on, we both know I'm not someone you drink tea with. But thanks for asking. Again. I'd rather get you drunk tonight."

"I'll see you in the evening, then. And, Isabela? You're welcome to borrow books or use the library whenever you like, if you need a quiet place to read."

Whatever Isabela was about to say, she decided against it when her eyes met Lily's serious gaze. "I know."

* * *

Averting her eyes when she walked past her mother's bedroom, Lily entered her own. Breathing in the scent of freshly picked wildflowers, she knew Orana had composed a new bouquet before she saw it. She was glad to have hired the young elf, finding comfort in her tenuous presence. She had once asked Orana if she wanted to go out for a walk, offering to accompany her, but the elf had declined, and Lily had not asked again. She valued Orana's discretion and suspected that her own was just as appreciated. She sensed that the girl had only begun to feel at home in the estate after Leandra's passing, perhaps because Lily's grief had seemed to mirror her own.

She brought a trembling hand to her brow, rubbing her temples, and sat in front of her desk. The mere thought of her mother's defiled, repulsive face was enough to bring her to her knees, vertigo swarming her head, nausea gripping her throat. Eyes closed, she waited for her breathing to ease. The image was so violent that she wasn't sure she would one day be able to look at it, to give it the attention it needed and turn the unspeakable into words. There wasn't even a memory yet, no construct of the mind, no filter between her and the staggering reality of what had happened.

She straightened up in her chair and opened the wooden box where she kept the letters that needed answering, unfolding the one she had received and read the day before. It had to be answered in person. She would go to the Gallows in the afternoon. The regularity of the handwriting was in such contrast with the briskness of the signature that she surmised the letter had been dictated to that young woman, the tranquil assistant.

 

_Dear Champion,_

_As you may know, the Circle's library thrives to offer mages knowledge in both magical and religious matters, so that they may learn to cope with their condition. However, the library also possesses a great number of tomes that satisfy other interests, and our librarian has submitted a request for a copy of your recently published essays. Having read them myself, I can only agree that our charges would benefit from your reflections. It has always been the library's purpose to help mages understand that although they must live in confinement for the safety of all, their own in particular, the Circle encourages all those who wish to broaden their horizons by studying. Should you agree to grant the Circle's library permission to register a copy as its own, please let me know at your earliest convenience._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Knight-Commander Meredith_

Kneeling in front of her bedroom's bookshelves, Lily pulled one of the three copies of her collected essays that she owned, making sure that it was in perfect condition. Over a hundred pages, a year's work. She could tell that many of those who thought it appropriate to congratulate her on the publication hadn't read more than a few pages; the book's unexpected success stemmed from a short-lived curiosity for what must be perceived as an oddity, a Champion trading the sword for the quill. These past few weeks, she had seen her book displayed in each of the frequent parties she was expected to attend, always in such a way that nobody could fail to notice it, and yet, discreetly enough not to make the intent egregious. It was unpleasant, but appropriate, as were most things that allowed nobility to function. For all their unfounded sense of entitlement and excessive self-indulgence, Lily recognised that Kirkwall's nobles possessed a sharp understanding of the role they were expected to play. She would uphold the ideal.

* * *

"Knight-Commander," the girl said, bowing her head slightly.

"I hope I did not keep you waiting." Meredith had forgotten how controlled the Champion was, magic coursing through her so steadily that she could barely feel it.

"Not at all. Thank you for receiving me on such short notice."

Meredith narrowed her eyes, but forced the tension out of her face. The girl's impeccable manners, her composure, even the way she stood betrayed the sort of self-discipline Meredith seldom had the satisfaction to observe in others. Unnerving. "Shall we go to my office?" she offered, checking whether the young woman carried any visible weapons, any potentially enchanted items. No pendant, no rings, nothing she could see. She opened the door to her office, stepping aside to let the girl in, then motioned for her to take a seat.

"I received your letter. I'm glad you think my work could be of interest to some of your charges." Meredith answered with a courteous nod, watching her place the flat package she had been carrying on the desk. "The Circle's library has my authorisation to register a copy, of course, and I took the liberty to bring you one."

Meredith could have objected, informing her that the library had already placed an order for a copy, but it didn't matter. What mattered was handling this uncomfortable situation as elegantly as possible. "It is my honour to accept it on behalf of the Circle, Champion. Should you ever wish to consult some of the library's volumes for future research, you are welcome to do so. I only ask that you do not associate with any of the mages present, with the exception of the librarian and her assistant, if you require their help."

"That is very generous of you. I've heard much of the Circle's collection, but I never thought I would have the opportunity to see it for myself. Rest assured that this privilege will not be abused."

The steadiness of the girl's gaze told Meredith that not only did she know that she was being granted an exceptional favour, but that she was also aware of the consequences for breaking the rules, spoken or otherwise. Meredith nodded again, but kept watching her without a word. She could feel it better now that they were alone, the undercurrent of magic. Deep, slow.

"Thank you for your time, Knight-Commander, I will not keep you from your duties any longer," the girl concluded, getting up.

Meredith circled her desk, opened the door again and held it for her. "I bid you good day, Champion." She noticed her tired eyes when she walked past. Was she having nightmares, demons plaguing her nights? How long before she gave in? Meredith forced herself to close the door calmly. Demons weren't the only thing that kept mages awake at night, after all, worries or heavy hearts did not discriminate between them and normal people, and from what Meredith knew, the Champion had gone through her fair share of ordeals in the past few years. Still. The girl's place was in the Circle, where she could be properly watched, not in her family's estate in Hightown. An apostate, Champion of Kirkwall. And what a waste, for someone so capable to be cursed with magic. Ser Carver was a rather promising recruit, but his sister would have been something else, had she not been a mage. Had she joined the Order. Meredith remembered the night of the Qunari attack, how they had fought their way to the Keep, her own hand ready to strike the girl down at the slightest ripple of blood magic or possession. The bloodbath in the throne room. How she had let Meredith take over afterwards, taking her leave without indulging the cheering crowd, bruises turning blue around her neck. Meredith had sent one of her men to follow her and make sure she didn't use the general confusion as an opportunity to escape the city, but there had been no such attempt.

She let out a silent sigh, fighting the weariness in her limbs. She removed her gloves and unfolded the elegant piece of cloth draping the leather-bound book, lifting the cover carefully. She had little time for anything that wasn't directly related to the handling of the Circle, and she had only read the Champion's work to determine whether it was suitable for the library. It had been a surprising read, and what could have been a chore had turned into a breath of fresh air, something she had looked forward to returning to whenever she had a few minutes to herself. Kirkwall's architecture, a commentary on dwarven archaic wall painting with beautifully reproduced frescos… She wondered if the girl had drawn the illustrations herself. Varied subjects, subjects that took the mind off the urgency of the present, meditations without a practical use, and richer for it. Meredith started turning the pages, one at a time, searching for anything suspicious, a message, a scribbled ritual... She allowed herself to get caught up in some passages along the way.

* * *

"There you go," Norah said, putting a large pitcher on the table and taking back the previous, empty one.

Varric chuckled, rubbing his hands and motioning for his companions to gather their glasses for a refill. He started pouring the ale. "So, where was I? Ah yes, the morning after. So—"

"Who cares, we've all heard that one at some point or another," Isabela shrugged, innocuously grabbing Lily's glass along with her own and pushing them towards Varric, with whom she exchanged a glance. She had better win that bet, because she certainly didn't have the five sovereigns they'd wagered in her possession, and she knew her other assets wouldn't get her out of that one.

"Fine, fine. Let Hawke do the storytelling, then," Varric retorted, leaning back in his chair, his pint filled to the brim. "She could tell us firsthand about her little adventure in the Gallows this afternoon. And no, I'm not stalking you, a dockworker I know just saw you get there."

Raising her eyebrows, Isabela turned to look at Lily. Two pints in and her cheeks had turned a barely noticeable shade of pink, her bearing more relaxed than usual, her head resting against her palm. _About halfway there_ , Isabela surmised, pushing the newly filled glass back in front of the young woman.

"You went to the Gallows?" Anders asked from across the table.

"I did."

"And?" Anders pressed. Isabela tried to send him a warning glance, but he wasn't looking at her.

Lily straightened up a little, but said nothing, returning Anders' gaze. He shook his head with a sigh. "I'm sorry. Look, just tell us the next time you go there, one of us will accompany you. It's not safe to go alone."

"I won't discuss this with you, Anders."

After a few seconds, Varric turned towards Aveline and broke the tense silence that had settled over the table. "Your hair looks lovely tonight, Captain."

"My hair?"

"You mean it's not, usually? Lovely, I mean," Donnic chimed in, pausing to prevent a small burp from escaping his lips. Cute. This bloke could drink a dwarf under the table, Isabela had found out the hard way.

"Perish the thought! Actually…"

Isabela tuned out of Varric's undoubtedly delightful tale. She thought about that ship she'd seen on her way to the Hawke estate in the morning. A white caravel. A beauty. The sails swelling in the wind, slowly. A lover. She could have had all that. She grabbed her drink and emptied half of it in a few gulps, much too quickly, and paid for it with a nasty, eye-watering coughing fit. Varric interrupted his story with an appraising smirk that only broadened when she glared back at him, her lungs on fire. Merrill patted her on the back.

"I always knew my stories left you all hot and bothered," he observed, taking a delicate sip as Isabela heaved over the table, wiping her brow.

"Yeah, you got me all figured out," she panted before turning to Lily. "Listen, you need to drink that pint, and two others, so I can win that idiotic bet Chest Hair here pulled me into."

"You're cheating!" Varric exclaimed.

"You never said I couldn't tell her. Besides, I don't play fair and you know it," she retorted, her voice strained as she tried to contain another bout of coughing.

One look at Lily instantly made her question whether she should have said anything. Now the girl was going to think that the bet had been the reason behind the invitation. It was only a concerted attempt from the group to keep an eye on her, to make her feel at home, among friends. Lily's eyes went from her to Varric, then back. A triumphant smile spread across isabela's face when Lily brought the pint to her lips and proceeded to down a third of it, slowly but steadily.

"If I have to arrest her for public drunkenness, you'll be the one bailing her out, Isabela," Aveline sighed, but Isabela could feel that everyone around the table had finally relaxed. She wondered if Lily had noticed. If she'd given them what they wanted.

"I doubt that, unless her jailor is willing to accept a different sort of payment," she replied, flashing Aveline her most devious smile.

"Does this mean you won't be able to honour your debt should our brave Lily fail to reach the bottom of her fifth pint?" Varric asked, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"It depends. I don't suppose you're open to my alternate currency?"

"I'm afraid not. I'll tell you what, Rivaini. Whoever loses picks up the tab for tonight. And I'm being merciful."

"Fair enough."

* * *

"I'm sorry, I can't," Lily said when Donnic grabbed the pitcher to refill her glass. A light sheen of sweat covered her brow.

"Oh come on," Isabela pleaded. "Wait, you're not going to throw up, are you?" she added, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"You can use my bathroom," Varric declared, his room key already in his hand.

"That won't be necessary, but I'm calling it a night."

"Please stay, you don't have to drink," Merrill offered. "We can order one of those questionable pies they make here if you're hungry. They're really good. Probably unhealthy, too."

Lily shook her head, offering the elf one of her rare smiles, and started getting up.

"Not so fast," Isabela intervened. "I'm warning you, if you pick up the tab behind my back like last time-"

"It's already done," Lily interrupted.

"What? When?"

"While you were re-enacting that card game with the Hero of Ferelden. One of your many and conflicting versions of it, anyway," Aveline answered, getting up as well. "I'll come with you," she told Lily.

"Thank you, Aveline, but it's all right."

"I'm not letting you go back alone at this hour," the woman insisted, following her.

Isabela couldn't hear Lily's reply, but she saw her stagger a little, steadying herself on a nearby table and brushing Aveline's hand away. Donnic got up, walked up to his wife and held her back gently while Lily reached the tavern's door. They came back to the group and a few silent looks were exchanged.

"Make sure she gets home safely," Varric told Isabela, who rose from her seat.

"Are you sober enough to be discreet?" Fenris asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No, but she's as drunk as I am, she won't notice anything."

"Thank you for setting our minds at ease, as always," Aveline remarked.

Isabela narrowed her eyes and walked past the woman's seat, ruffling her hair in the process.


	2. Words given and kept

The room is small and bare, the stone is cold, light floods in through the narrow window. Meredith pours water over her hair in slow, repetitive movements, washing the soap away. She closes her eyes to taste the silence. Silence is her own breathing, droplets falling on stone and birds circling the tower. She runs the coarse washcloth over the back of her neck, along one arm, along the other, over her breasts and between her thighs. The water is as cold as the stone. Her blood quickens under its bite.

She dries herself. Her clothes are folded on the wooden bench, her Chantry amulet resting in the folds of a shirt. She presses her lips against the pendant, slips it around her neck, pulls her hair from under the chain. The familiar weight of metal, the sensation of fresh linen against her skin. Her moment of calm. Her eyes embrace the room.

* * *

Lily whirled around in her chair at Orana's cry of pain. The girl was holding her left hand and her lute had fallen on the rug before the hearth.

"Did you burn yourself?"

"I'm sorry, mistress," Orana said, her face strained.

Lily put her quill away and walked up to her. "Let me see." She examined the elf's reddened palm. The burn wasn't serious. The touch of her own, cool hands seemed to allay some of Orana's pain, who raised her haunted eyes, searching for traces of anger on Lily's face. "Sit here, please," Lily motioned towards the bed. She unfolded a towel and dipped it in the washbowl she kept on the dresser. "Press it against your hand." While Orana obeyed, she picked up the lute from the floor and put it away from the fireplace, careful not to touch the neck. The instrument was burning hot. She retrieved a salve from the adjacent cabinet and sat next to Orana, taking her hand in hers. The cold water had slowed the blistering. She dried the girl's palm before rubbing it with the balm, her fingers barely brushing against Orana's swollen skin.

"I'm sorry," the elf repeated.

Lily didn't return her gaze. "Is that what you believe I expect you to say? Your words and your thoughts are your responsibility, Orana. Nobody else will bear it for you."

The next minutes trickled by silently. Holding the girl's wrist in one hand, Lily could see the faint outline of veins running under the skin, the bitten nails. She felt Orana relax over time, gradually leaning back against one of the bed's sculpted columns. Once most of the balm had penetrated the skin, Lily looked up, wondering if the elf had fallen asleep. She hadn't, her gaunt features underlined by the light from the fireplace, eyes shining under half-closed eyelids.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Lily wiped her hand on the towel, closed the carved wooden box containing the balm and put it on the bedspread next to Orana. "You can use it if it hurts. I'll take a look at your hand again tonight before I leave."

Orana nodded. "Should supper be ready when you come back?"

Lily shook her head and got up. "The party will probably last well into the night. Please tell Bodahn that he doesn't have to stay up."

"I will."

She sat back at her desk and began going over the letter she had been writing, when she noticed that Orana hadn't left the room and was standing still by the bed, her hand on the column. Their eyes met and Lily waited.

"Is there anything I can do?" the girl ended up asking.

Lily held back a frown. "Is there anything you want to do?"

Silence stretched.

"I'll go water the plants," Orana said before exiting the room, closing the door behind her without a noise.

* * *

"Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven!" the butler announced.

Meredith glanced at the entrance and watched the young man walk in. His garment was quite different from the one he was wearing earlier in the Chantry, when she had stopped by to pay her respects to the Grand Cleric. He looked stunning, of course.  _But you are not so different from him. You've known the same loss, and you both took vows to dedicate your life to accomplishing the Maker's will. He simply struggles with his_ , Elthina had told her once upon perceiving her profound contempt for the young man. Meredith knew her place, and disagreeing with Her Grace certainly wasn't it, but the old woman's words had only deepened her disdain. One did not "struggle" with their vows, they lived and died by them, or broke them. Sebastian Vael had chosen the latter. Besides, they had both been tested in their faith. His test had been to decide what his throne was worth to him, and he had been wallowing in indecision for years; as for Meredith, the test was reiterated every day – should this life be spared, that one taken, was there room for second chances, was there time? No, the little prince didn't deserve her compassion.

"Lady Mathilde of Arlesans!"

A tray of finely wrought silver glasses was presented to Meredith, who dismissed it but took a sip from the one she was already holding. She was used to her presence making others uncomfortable, and she knew that the guests who came to greet her and converse for a while only did so because etiquette demanded it. Those parties all followed the same ritual, some more enjoyable that others. Although her time could on occasion have been put to better use elsewhere, Meredith regarded those receptions as a social necessity, as well as an occasional way to take the pulse of the city's elite.

"The Champion of Kirkwall!"

A significant number of heads turned towards the entrance, and quite a few in Meredith's direction. She denied them the satisfaction of a reaction when Lily Hawke walked in. Her dress, sober and elegant, contrasted with some of the more extravagant outfits on display.  _Maker, an apostate in the room_ , and Meredith had to look away, focusing on a mandolin player. She wished the girl had died a hero during the Qunari attack. Bestowing the title on her posthumously would have been easier. Meredith swallowed and steeled her heart against such thoughts. She expected better from herself. Nothing was easy. Nothing was in vain.

* * *

People were withdrawing from the centre of the hall, clearing a space promptly filled with couples taking position.

"My lady?" a voice called behind her.

Lily turned around and was greeted by Sebastian Vael's extended hand. She offered him a brief smile and slipped into the moment, her hand in his as he led her towards the other dancers. She was aware of the discreet stares upon the two of them, but her eyes didn't leave Sebastian's while they waited for the first notes to rise, men and women facing one another in two perfect rows. A flash of blond hair in her peripheral vision told her that the Knight-Commander was nearby, engaged in conversation with an old man she didn't recognise.

The volta began, the steps complex and fast, Lily's favourite dance. There was nothing but colours whirling past her unfocused eyes, and the trust that he would catch her, lift her, that his hand would find the small of her back and that hers would meet his shoulder. She didn't need to look, she was alone, rapturously alone.

* * *

Meredith's gaze lingered on the great tapestry that ran along the wall. The dim lighting made it difficult to distinguish what story it was telling, but she could make out shapes that balanced one another into a restful composition. She tore her eyes away from it, before her contemplation could cause her to lose sight of the Champion. She couldn't afford to waver, especially when there was nothing to remind her of the danger, neither armour nor robe, nor bars, nor the sordid smell of fear. Only a Champion and a prince dancing together, all youth and beauty, their faces grave. She could see the gentleness with which he held her, and how the girl abandoned herself to his arms, only to escape again. Meredith wondered how she would handle the situation should the two of them turn out to be more than dancing partners, should the boy finally decide to be a prince and not a priest, a man who needed an heir and a wife to give him one. Meredith could not let that happen. Allowing the girl to live outside of the Circle was as far as she was willing to go, and marriage was out of the question. She would have to ask the Grand Cleric to keep her informed on the matter, since Sebastian Vael would likely confide in her if he ever considered it. Elthina would understand.

* * *

Lily pressed her glass against her brow for a moment, cooling her skin. She turned to put the glass aside on the small table behind her, but almost dropped it when she saw the bouquet of white lilies springing from a delicately painted porcelain vase. Her face remained composed, but it took her a moment to regain control of her heart's erratic pounding. Saving face was all that mattered, and civility, all that remained.

Her fingertips brushed against the petals. Flowers were only beautiful from afar. They became obscene if one looked at them too closely. She shook her head imperceptibly and made her way through the groups of guests until she reached the other end of the hall, slipping between the heavy curtains masking one of the balconies.

The night air was cold and damp. She breathed in the chill, preventing a sigh of relief from escaping her lips, and leaned against the railing, taking in the sight of Hightown's rooftops rolling all the way down to the harbour. She had to close her eyes when the icy hand that had been hovering over her chest at the sight of the lilies suddenly tightened its hold.

"Are you all right, Champion?"

She opened her eyes, unfazed by the unspoken threat.

"Good evening, Knight-Commander. I'm fine, but thank you for your concern," she said evenly, straightening up. And she was indeed grateful. Grateful to know that her life was no longer in her hands when the woman was around, that should she falter, there would be no hesitation. Such a seductive lie. The burden was hers alone.

"Is there anything I should know?"

Lily turned her head to meet the Knight-Commander's eyes, their colour absorbed in the night, blond hair turned silver under moonlight. Hard eyes. Eyes that asked the right questions.

"You will be the judge of that," Lily offered, allowing herself a silent intake of breath as she searched for words that would inevitably miss their mark, that mute hole of a mark. "My mother loved lilies, as you may have guessed." A hint of smile appeared on the Knight-Commander's lips in acknowledgment. "A fondness that her murderer happened to share. He would send a bouquet of white lilies to each of his future victims. I believe you know the rest," she trailed off, regretting the words and the pale summary they offered, her own inability to find common ground between decency and naked truth. "There were lilies on the table," she explained with a look at the curtains. Golden light filtered through.

The Knight-Commander nodded, letting silence settled between them for a while. "Few under my command have experienced the loss of friends or family to blood magic. Although I do not wish that grief on anyone, I daresay it strengthened your brother's resolve. Ser Carver has become one of my most promising recruits in the months that followed your mother's passing."

"Good. He believes he has found his place in the Order," Lily replied, crossing her arms loosely to ward off the cold.

"And you don't?"

"There is anger in him. One does not bear the sun-shied out of anger, do they, Knight-Commander?"

"Anger can be a powerful motivator, Champion. To a point. Maker willing, Ser Carver will outgrow it and find a more suitable sentiment to guide his actions."

"Maker willing", Lily echoed quietly. Now that her eyes had gotten used to the obscurity, she was able distinguish the subtle embroidery on the woman's long tunic. The lack of armour did not lessen the density of her presence. "Forgive me, but the night is colder than I had anticipated, and it is time for me to return to the festivities. Again, I thank you for your concern, Knight-Commander. Have a pleasant evening."

"One more thing, Champion."

"Yes?"

"You're not obligated to answer by any means, but did you experience none of your brother's anger when that mage murdered your mother?"

Lily had asked herself that very question, but hearing it voiced by somebody else was different, in that sharp, slightly broken voice that cut like a mirror's shattered pieces. She held the woman's impenetrable gaze, once again searching for words she didn't have. In none of her prayers had she ever asked for anything, wary of desire laid bare for the Maker to see. But lies came in so many forms. She had vowed never to deceive, never to compromise with the truth and call it a benevolent lie, regardless of the cost. And the cost had been high. "I did. But whatever anger there was in me wasn't directed at this man. It was already there. However, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss my relationship to my mother, which I suspect would be of little interest to you, Knight-Commander."

"Indeed," the woman replied without a trace of commiseration. "Let us go back inside, then." She pulled one of the curtains aside and held it to let Lily in first. "Is there anything else?" she ended up asking when Lily didn't move.

"If I may ask, did you ever find out who in the Circle provided the killer with his treaties?"

The curtain was dropped, veiling the light. "I beg your pardon?"

"Did you find who smuggled those books out of the Circle's library?"

The Knight-Commander said nothing for a few strained seconds. "I want to know what books you're referring to, and why you assume they belong to the Circle."

Lily complied dispassionately. "That man possessed a significant number of tomes dealing with necromancy and other forms of forbidden magic. I believe he used them to elaborate his rituals. I found a letter addressed to him from someone he obviously kept informed of his progress, and who used their access to the Circle's library to provide him with the required books."

"And why did you not see fit to bring this letter to my attention sooner, Champion?" the Knight-Commander asked, her voice tense.

"Nobody informed me that an investigation was being conducted by the Templar Order. I was only aware of the official inquiry carried out by the City Guard. I told them what I knew, and when I found out that the Order was involved as well, I assumed your templars would have access to my report."

"Do you still have the letter?"

The idea that the missive was compromising enough for the Order to end up inadvertently burned crossed Lily's mind, but she dismissed it. It was demeaning. "I do. Shall I bring it to the Gallows tomorrow morning?"

"No, you will give it to me tonight. I have no intention of waiting until tomorrow to deal with this, should your accusations prove to be accurate. We must leave now, Champion."

"I agree. After you, Knight-Commander."

* * *

Meredith signalled the three templars posted by the entrance. They positioned themselves around her, armour clinking in the night and swords at the ready. The girl was clasping her mantle, her pallor stark against the dark blue velvet. They walked through damp streets and climbed silent flight of stairs, finally reaching the plaza that stretched at the feet of the Viscount's Way. The girl stopped under the Amell family crest and pulled out a key ring from under her mantle. Water was dripping from the ivy leaves. Meredith narrowed her eyes, watching her wipe her face while she used the light from a nearby lantern to select a thin, intricate key. Meredith could even see raindrops running down her neck.

It was upon noticing how carefully she opened the door, as if too much noise would disturb somebody else's sleep, that the oddity of the situation dawned on Meredith. The Champion was opening the door to her home, her privacy. It was no place for three armed men. Meredith turned around and ordered her templars to wait outside, before walking through the door being held for her.

"May I?" the girl asked, motioning towards Meredith's cloak, her own mantle already on her arm. She was whispering. So there  _were_  other people. Servants? Lover? Meredith had no desire to pry, but she was in an apostate's home.  _Maker, this is absurd_. She forced the tension out of her neck as she unclasped her cloak and followed the Champion further in. The first thing she saw when she entered the central room was a large Fereldan dog trotting down the stairs, wagging its tail and looking straight at her. "Go back upstairs," the Champion said in its direction, and to Meredith's perplexity, the beast let out a muffled bark and obeyed immediately. Fire crackling in the hearth, papers neatly arranged on a desk across the room, the pleasant fragrance of scented candles filling the air and the small, tasteful flower arrangements… all of this told a story of familiarity, of a home well kept, traces of daily life visible everywhere, unlike the interior of most estates Meredith was used to seeing during parties or official visits. She became aware that someone had been playing the lute when the notes abruptly stopped trickling from a distant room and a door opened, revealing a young elf. A maidservant. "You're awake," the Champion said with a frown. "Good, please show the Knight-Commander to the study. I'll bring the letter right away," she told Meredith, leaving both cloaks in the elf's care before disappearing up the stairs.

"If you will follow me, messere."

Meredith flinched at the form of address, but obliged, intent on ignoring the oppressive feeling in her chest, struggling to reconcile her own, necessary vigilance, and these overwhelming signs of a calm existence. She felt comfortable neither as a guest nor as an intruder.

"Please have a seat, messere. I'm sure my mistress will be back shortly. Would you like some tea?"

Meredith stared at her, realising that the elf had no idea who she was and what her presence in a mage's household implied. Everybody in Kirkwall knew who the Knight-Commander was, streets emptied out before her, rumours spread like wildfire among nobles and Lowtown drunks alike, there was fear and hate and nothing in between. Everyone knew her face, and Meredith had forgotten what anonymity felt like. She gave the elf a vague nod.

Alone, she remained still in the middle of the room, taking in the bookshelves, the low table, the small desk supporting a large, heavy tome. Meredith's eyes drifted from its pages over to a stack of papers on the side, a hastily scribbled note on top of it.

 

_Lily,_

_I took you up on your offer and came by to educate myself. You were gone, which presented me with the opportunity to break into your room and pilfer your underwear. I did not yield to temptation, make of it what you will. Instead, I tried reading that book on your desk. It was an excruciating experience in boredom, but after much toil, I did find your den's more interesting stash. Borrowed your_ Tales of the Brecilian Forest _, hope that's all right, will return it soo-"_

Meredith pried her eyes away from the note, horrified at her own indiscretion, and went to stand in front of the shelves on the other side of the small study. Her eyes skimmed over titles embossed in gold or silver, not seeing them. But the heat radiating from the fireplace, the crackling of the logs and the stillness of the place slowly silenced her racing mind, and when the girl stepped into the room, Meredith was calm enough to detect her presence a fraction of a second before she announced herself by clearing her throat. She turned around and spotted the piece of paper the girl was holding.

"Please," the Champion said, impassive, inviting her to take a seat with a graceful wave of her hand. She placed the letter on the table next to Meredith before sitting in the other armchair and looking away to give her visitor some semblance of privacy.

_…our usual hiding spot…fascinating…your resolve…progress…friend and colleague, O._

Meredith had to read the few lines four times. She felt ill. They were everywhere. She had not seen, she had—  _Maker, give me strength_. She glanced up when the elf came in, carrying a tray, but focused on the letter, not trusting herself to speak just yet. "Take the bandage off when you go to sleep," she heard the Champion whisper, and resisted the urge to look up to see what she was talking about, then remembered the elf's bandaged hand—  _your friend and colleague,_   _O._

Very well. She would handle it, as she had handled all previous blows to her authority. How ironic, that an apostate should be the one to uncover this treachery. That the Knight-Commander herself should suffer the humiliation of hearing it from those lips. She raised her head sharply, but hadn't anticipated that the girl would already be looking at her. There was no defiance in her grey eyes. The elf was pouring tea, and a warm, flowery scent suffused the air. Meredith briefly wondered if the Champion's aristocratic leanings were the reason she hadn't used her magic to heal the servant's hand.

"I will take the letter back to the Gallows," she declared once they were alone. "I cannot tell you when or even if it will be returned to you."

"Do what you must, Knight-Commander."

"I always do, Champion."

The girl nodded with a calming gravity that somehow defused Meredith's surge of aggressiveness. She had good reason to be on the defensive. Being Knight-Commander turned every exchange into a confrontation, and each of her decisions was systematically met with hostility, veiled or otherwise. There were always whispers behind her back. But Meredith was also aware that this was not all that she was, that she should retain the needed fluidity to adapt to what she was no longer used to. She could still be treated with courtesy and offered tea. She took a sip from her steaming cup, noting how the girl had waited for her to do so before bringing hers to her lips. The aroma was exquisite.

"I will oversee this investigation personally, and either Captain Cullen or myself will keep you informed. I must also notify the Grand Cleric, unless you prefer to do so yourself since, from what I understand, she was rather fond of your mother."

"I will leave it to your discretion to inform Her Grace. I'm sure you can explain the situation more accurately than I would."

Meredith could feel the weight of something left unsaid, as she had back on the balcony upon discussing Leandra Amell's passing. There was something open about the Champion's features, something laid bare, but it was illegible. Would Meredith learn to read it, would she see it in those eyes, when the curse took its toll and the saviour of Kirkwall turned out to be human after all, falling prey to some demon or another? It was always the strong ones who finally surrendered without so much as a murmur, all it took was one sleepless night too many, one bout of melancholia, the fleeting realisation that the walls were closing in, and they were lost. Nobody noticed, everyone died. It was the strong ones who needed to be watched with relentless vigilance.

"Was your maidservant the one playing the lute?"

"Yes," the Champion nodded. "I didn't know she could play until recently. When I encouraged her, her creativity extended to floral arranging, tea blends," she added with a slightly perplexed frown.

"She has quite a gift," Meredith remarked, glancing at the tray.

"Thank you, I'll be sure to tell her."

A part of Meredith was having this conversation, but the other was watching the scene with a searing sense of ridicule. The Knight-Commander, discussing a servant's tea-blending skills with her apostate mistress, comfortably seated by the fireplace. But it wasn't a farce. They both did what they could, given the circumstances.


	3. A prayer for my sister

Meredith didn't raise her eyes. "Come in."

"Ser Moira brought you this note, Knight-Commander."

She glanced at the folded piece of parchment in Elsa's hand. "Is this urgent?"

Elsa skimmed over its contents. "It is the list of titles you requested, should the Champion of Kirkwall consult some of the library's books."

"Leave it on the desk."

Her assistant complied and also took away the small pile of reports left for her on their usual spot. Meredith resumed her reading.

* * *

The late afternoon glow that filtered through the stained glass windows softened the library's geometry, the hard edges of its shelves, ladders and pillars. Meredith observed the young woman's deep, steady breathing. Her sleep was serene, contrasting with her tired features. Ink had dripped from the quill she still held loosely, staining her notes. Meredith cleared her throat, her hands behind her back, and the girl opened her eyes. Meredith's lips curved into a smile as she watched her struggle to find her bearings, glancing around her at the empty library before her gaze settled on Meredith.

"Knight-Commander." Her voice was slightly hoarse.

"Champion. Your dedication honours you, but it's time to close the library."

The girl rose immediately. "Please accept my apologies." She began gathering her notes, frowning at the stained parchment. Her gestures were efficient, her face composed, but Meredith could tell that she was embarrassed, and not because she had been caught. She was the sort of person who allowed herself no leeway. Austere to excess.

Meredith remained quiet. Her eyes strayed to the engraving displayed in one of the open books. It looked familiar. She leaned closer to the table, the dim lighting making it hard to decipher the caption. She raised her head and gave the Champion a questioning look.

"Brother Amaury mentioned it when we met in the Chantry. He told me that the Circle's archives were probably the only place where I might find a depiction or picture."

"It is a remarkable work of art, and of faith. Does your interest in it have anything to do with your previous work on dwarven statuary?"

Meredith hadn't anticipated the genuine smile that graced the girl's lips. "It does. Unfortunately, little has been written about it, and the two engravings I found don't even match," she explained, seriousness settling over her face again.

Meredith hesitated briefly. "Would you like to see it?"

There was a pause. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Knight-Commander."

It was Meredith's turn to be confused. "Would you like me to open the chapel so you can see the statue for yourself?"

The young woman opened her mouth but closed it before words could escape, and focused on a large piece of parchment on the table, folding it neatly. "Brother Amaury told me that it had been destroyed in the collapse of the eastern tower, over a century ago."

"Damaged, yes, but not destroyed. It was moved to a small private chapel at the top of the central tower."

In the peace and quiet of the library, Meredith felt the girl's heart rate quicken, magic coursing faster for a few seconds. She tensed up in reaction.

"I would very much like to see it," the Champion finally said, raising her eyes.

"Follow me, then."

* * *

They were both out of breath by the time they reached the top of the tower. Meredith shrugged off the disorientation induced by the long spiral staircase, and picked an ornate brass key out the ring she had retrieved from her office. The small door was old, the wood no longer fitting the frame, and she had to pull hard to open it. The girl looked at her and Meredith nodded her assent, stepping aside to let her in. She gave her a moment out of discretion, then followed her inside the exiguous chapel.

She had forgotten how bare it was. The statue, a low altar at its feet, two stones benches. Meredith's eyes left the girl's contemplative gaze to observe the sculpture, wondering what she saw in it. Would she write about it?

"I take it few ever come here." She was looking at the wilted flowers and the cold, melted candles on the altar.

"Most of the tower's higher levels are closed off and given minimum maintenance. Budgetary concerns, I'm afraid." Night patrols, shorter but more frequent watches, longer training sessions, increased lyrium orders, repairs, inquiries… Val Royeaux was generous, the Formari worked harder than ever and donations were up, but it remained a financial nightmare. Meredith forced these thoughts out of her mind. It wasn't the place.

"In that case, I thank you all the more for bringing me here, Knight-Commander. Seeing this statue holds great significance for me."

"I know."

The girl turned to look at her. "Pardon me?" Her tone was calm. So was her pulse.

"Surely you know that the Grand Cleric speaks highly of your commitment to our faith."

"I'm humbled, but I've only spoken to Her Grace on rare occasions, and that isn't something we discussed."

Meredith chose to leave it at that. If there was one area of the girl's life in which Meredith was willing to give her as much privacy as she required, it was this one. She remembered her own hesitation upon drafting the letter to the newly appointed Champion of Kirkwall –  _know that I will always consider you a champion of our faith as much as a defender of our city._ Meredith had regretted the words, their rashness, the inconsiderate promise they held.

"May I?"

The Champion was looking at a few votive candles resting in a dusty alcove. "Of course," Meredith replied, knowing that the tinderbox that could usually be found near such candles had been removed from the chapel years before. She watched the girl retrieve her chosen candle, then look around in search of something to light it with. Their eyes met, Meredith gave her a slight nod and the girl kneeled by the altar to place her candle, raising her hand briefly. Meredith couldn't detect even a ripple of magic, and yet the wick came to life, the flame rising gently. The mage sat on one of the benches, hands in her lap, face raised towards the sculpture. Meredith wondered if the candle was for Leandra Amell. She supposed that in a chapel dedicated to Brona and her daughter, it would only be appropriate. She sat on the other bench.

"Nothing is known about the artist. He or she probably belonged to one of the primitive dwarven Andrastian cults, but so little remains of them," the girl explained pensively.

Meredith's eyes followed the statue's curves and the way light and shadow played around them. The shapes were crude, roughly carved out of a basalt block, features reduced to a few chisel strokes. Enough to evoke the folds of a mantle, the tension in the arm supporting the infant's weight.

* * *

An imperceptible gust of wind almost snuffed out the flame. Lily watched it tremble.

"Champion." The Knight-Commander's voice was low, but it cut through the silence with precision. "I know that Knight-Captain Cullen recently informed you that I had no choice but to close the case, given the lack of results yielded by our investigation. All those who had access to that particular section of the library have seen their privilege revoked, of course, and books can no longer be borrowed, only consulted. But the Order's failure – my failure – to see that such measures should have been taken a long time ago has led to the death of several women, while that blood mage's accomplice still lives within these walls. I will not insult your mother's memory by apologising, but know that I am deeply sorry that I could neither prevent those murders, nor see justice done."

Lily sighed inwardly. It was no longer her concern. "It is regrettable. You did what you thought best. It may not be enough for you, but it is for me, Knight-Commander."

"And yet, you wanted to know who had procured the books for the mage."

"No," Lily said quietly, "what mattered to me was whether they had been apprehended. So much of what I have done over the years remains unresolved, it would have been one less loose end, but closure? I don't think so."

"When I notified Ser Carver of the investigation's latest developments, he said that closure was precisely what he had hoped this inquiry would bring you both."

Lily knew from the woman's tone that this wasn't a veiled interrogation. "Perhaps it would have, for him. Things were complicated between my mother and I. Her death didn't simplify them." She noticed the way the woman's fair hair caught the light that shown behind her through the narrow window. "Why does my family interest you, Knight-Commander?"

If the question caught her off-guard, the woman didn't show it. "And why wouldn't it?" She wasn't smiling, but Lily detected a hint of irony in her tone. "Why wouldn't I seek to understand what turned a young Fereldan apostate into the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"You did," Lily replied without a trace of humour.

The woman held her gaze. "Believe me, I only bestowed the title. I have not regretted it so far, but I know too little about you, and the situation we find ourselves in is delicate, to say the least."

"My support is all I can give you, Knight-Commander. I could tell you my story, but stories turn any life, no matter how miserable, into a destiny. I don't think that this is what you wish to hear."

This time, the woman gave her a half-smile. An adult observing the intransigence of youth with a measure of acceptance, but knowing better. Her mother, too, believed Lily would outgrow this severity, that she would learn to compromise with the world, taking in some of the worst to give the best a chance. She had not.

"No. But one Hawke sibling is training to become a templar under my command, and seems to understand what the Order strives to accomplish. His sister is an apostate as well as one of Kirkwall's most influential residents, who willingly submits herself to templar scrutiny for hours on end in the Circle's library. You cannot fault me for finding your family unusual. I will not press you further if you do not wish to talk about it, but I do believe it would make it easier for me to understand what I can or cannot expect from you."

Birds were circling the tower. Lily could hear them. "As you wish." Here, of all places. The words flowed out evenly, without attachment, words she had confessed in so many prayers that they no longer held the same weight. She struggled to see herself reflected in them. "My father thought he knew what was best for his family, and he expected each of us to abide by his decisions. When he died, my mother passed his responsibilities on to me. She was never an independent person, and I suppose that, out of her three children, I was the only one who could tell her what to do. For three years, she let me provide for our family, and when the Blight drew near, the decision to stay or flee was mine to make. It was my responsibility to protect them as we fled our village, my responsibility to slave the family's way into Kirkwall and ensure its welfare, and when my mother decided that the Amell estate was to be returned to us, I was to find a way to make that happen. There were no demands, only plea after plea. I could have refused and chosen differently, but I told myself that there would always be a burden to carry, one way or another. I lacked the strength to either accept this burden whole-heartedly, or refuse it and live with the consequences. I remained in the middle, masquerading as the head of the family. Now that she is dead, I wish I could forgive, put it all to rest." She shook her head slightly. The Knight-Commander's face was unreadable, mirroring Lily's dispassionate account. "As for my brother, he didn't want any of my responsibilities, but resented me for shouldering them. I will only say that his own burden was to find his place in this family of apostates, and in life, and when he began to think that he had, there was hardly a family to speak of anymore."

The Knight-Commander nodded, but remained silent for a moment. "I thank you for your honesty, Champion," she finally said. "You spoke of three children, but I only ever heard of you or your brother."

_Maker, not now_. "Our sister." One more word would have dissipated any misunderstanding and buried the subject, but nothing else would pass Lily's lips, not even her own breath.

The sudden sharpness in the woman's eyes announced her question before it was voiced. "Champion, if I ever find out that you have been hiding an apostate—"

"Her name was Bethany," Lily interrupted, but she had to look away, covering her eyes with her hand. Her heart was about to burst, it strangled her. Time slowed to a crawl as she fought against tears she hadn't meant to share.

The silence was deafening.

* * *

"I am sorry." Meredith took a glove off to remove the key from its ring, placed it on the bench and got up. "Take the time you need, but please lock the door when you're done, and come see me in my office before you leave."

Not expecting any sign of acknowledgement, she exited the chapel, leaving her hand on the door as it swung shut to prevent it from slamming. She started down the stairs, but stopped when she reached the second landing, pulling down her hood to run a hand through her hair. She hoped she wasn't making a mistake. Was it folly to consider admitting before an apostate that she could no longer trust her own templars? She had three blood mages on the run, and little choice. But a choice nonetheless, as always. She breathed out a sigh, raising her eyes to look at the clouds visible through the slit window. No answer.

Orsino was closing the door to his office when she reached the corridor, and they exchanged cold greetings. She could sense magic pulsing through him, a current mastered and strong that grated on her nerves. Once she was inside her office, she stood close to the wall until she could feel him walk away, and went to sit behind her desk. It was covered with the same weekly performance reports she had been reviewing earlier. One broken wrist during training, two failures at the cleansing and silencing tests, five recruits back from their spiritual retreat, numbers and other numbers.

Meredith removed her other glove, uncorked an ink bottle and dipped her quill into it to reschedule a test for one of the recruits who had failed — she would need to talk to Cullen about the other, whose performance report she set apart from the rest. She reached for the next file, lifted the thick cover, closed it without so much as a glance. Instead, she unfolded the list Elsa had left on the desk at her request. Thirteen titles. _The Building of the Grand Cathedral, The Way of the Stone: a history of dwarven sculpture, On the Nature of Things, The Silence of the Anderfels, Heresy and Teleology in the Tevinter Imperium…_  She stopped reading, opened a drawer restlessly and took out a small wooden box. Inside was an amulet identical to her own, but not as worn, the silver impeccably polished and the engraving still clearly legible:  _Amelia Stannard - Dedicated into the Chantry, 8:88 Blessed_. Meredith slipped the amulet around her neck and removed her own, placing it in the box and closing the drawer. Clenching the pendant between her palms, she rested her forehead against her joined hands, her elbows on the desk.

A knock on the door. "Come in."

"The Champion of Kirkwall is here to see you, Knight-Commander," Elsa announced, holding the door for Lily Hawke and closing it behind her.

"Have a seat," Meredith offered, observing her face. No trace of tears, no reddened eyes. Even her lips were pale. The girl held out her hand, presenting Meredith with the chapel's key, and sat down in front of her. They looked at each other wordlessly during Meredith's last seconds of hesitation. "There was an incident within the Gallows. A number of phylacteries were destroyed and several mages took the opportunity to escape. We've recovered most of the fugitives. However, I require your assistance in tracking down the last three."

She paused. When the Champion finally inclined her head as a sign of assent, Meredith was under the unpleasant impression that their roles had been reversed, and that she was now on the wrong side of the desk.

"I assume the destruction of those phylacteries was not an accident," the girl remarked.

Meredith got up calmly and turned to face the window so that her expression wouldn't betray the intense feeling of humiliation she was experiencing. "Several of my own templars orchestrated the escape."

"Are the remaining fugitives blood mages?" The neutrality of the girl's tone eased some of Meredith's discomfort.

"I believe so."

"You must be aware that my priority will not be to bring them back unharmed, Knight-Commander."

Meredith turned around briskly, and despite the frustration straining her voice, relief washed over her. "Naturally. Why do you think I'm asking you, of all people?"

The girl got up and, for an instant, Meredith thought she was offended. Perhaps she simply didn't want to remain seated while Meredith stood — out of respect, or to prevent her from gaining ascendancy, Meredith could not tell. Considering Kirkwall's propensity for hysterics, she had to admit that there was a certain elegance to the young woman's obvious disdain for gratuitous displays of emotion.

"Speak to my assistant, Elsa. She can tell you whatever you need to know about the fugitives."

"Is Knight-Captain Cullen informed of my involvement, or shall I report to you directly?"

"He will be informed, but given the circumstances, please come to me first."

"Very well. Good evening, Knight-Commander."

"Champion," Meredith called. The girl's hand was already on the doorknob, but she turned to look at her. "I am grateful for your assistance."

She returned Meredith's admission with a brief smile, as if to advise her to be wary of unnecessary words. Meredith was not used to being the one who said too much. Something about this girl seemed to push others away, only to shove them in front of a mirror.


	4. Their hollow hours

Meredith watched Elsa's hands as the young woman sorted the letters of the day by order of priority, before placing the pile on the desk. A glance at the first missive told Meredith that there would be no message from the Champion, as Elsa had spontaneously put Lily Hawke's two previous letters on top of the pile, the second one above a note from the Grand Cleric herself.

"Wait. Bring this to the librarian," Meredith said, holding out a small envelope. Elsa, about to exit the room, came back to take it. Her face caught a ray of morning light spilling out through the window behind Meredith, who noticed how pale she looked. "Are you feeling all right?" Winter was near, and four cases of benign flu had been reported in the past week.

"Not particularly, Knight-Commander."

"Deliver this to the librarian, then go to the infirmary," Meredith ordered. The only drawback to being responsible for tranquil mages was that their lack of initiative extended to their own health, and unless physical pain rendered them unable to complete their usual tasks, they tended to keep their ailments to themselves. The Rite of Tranquility was a mercy that replaced risk with responsibility, and those who underwent the process required a different sort of vigilance. Meredith had imposed severe sanctions against any templar or mage found guilty of negligence towards their tranquil charges.

It had been three days since that last letter. Meredith retrieved it from a drawer, ran her finger on the broken wax seal and unfolded the parchment once more. She perused the now familiar handwriting. Upright, sometimes a slight left slant.  _T'_ s crossed resolutely,  _g'_ s like  _8'_ s, spontaneous capital letters. The girl never signed with her title.

 

_Knight-Commander,_

_It appears that the mage Huon has fled north to hide in the mountains, perhaps in the hope that the Dalish clan residing on Sundermount will grant him asylum. His wife Nyssa was particularly cooperative, and told me that despite her refusal to hide him after his escape, he had clearly stated his intention to return to the alienage for her. I offered her templar protection, but she declined, and when I came back the following evening, she had been murdered. Although I cannot be certain in the absence of an autopsy, the type of wound seems consistent with the sacrifices I have seen blood mages perform in the past. I take full responsibility for this incident and will of course bear the cost of the funeral rites, should her relatives prove unable to do so._

_I am about to leave for Sundermount, and this letter may be the last I am able to send you for an indefinite amount of time. I do not know how far you intend to take the search for the fugitives, but should I suspect the Dalish clan of withholding information, a more forceful intervention may be necessary. I will not engage in it without your authorisation, and will keep you informed as soon as I return._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Lily Hawke_

* * *

"I didn't think it would take this long. If we haven't found him by tomorrow morning, I'll have to head back to Kirkwall."

"I understand," Lily replied, kneeling by the stream to wash her hands.

"And I want you to come back with me. I'm not letting you hunt this mage on your own—"

"She's not on her own," Merrill interrupted, passing the waterskin along to Aveline.

The woman took it with a grateful nod. "Let's no go there, Merrill. You know the area and your Keeper wouldn't have been as helpful if you hadn't been there, but knowing that your best defence against a blood mage is to use the same methods, forgive me if I'm reluctant to entrust you with Lily's life."

"Please, she can handle herself. And I gave her my word. Besides, you do realise that my abilities aren't limited to slashing my wrists, don't you?"

"Enough," Lily ordered without turning her head. She could see raindrops splattering into the water. She dried her hands and went to sit by the two women, before taking a hunk from the loaf of Dalish bread Merrill had broken for them. It was tasteless, like most of what the elves had given them, but it was substantial and better suited to travelling than what they had brought in the first place. Honey made it less insipid, but Lily declined the small pot Merrill was offering her.

"Don't you think it's time to go back, anyway? It's been two days, we won't find him."

"We've been over this, Aveline."

"He could be anywhere by now, and you know it."

"I will go back to Kirkwall once I've checked the ancient holding caves. Not before."

"They're not far, from what I remember. We may reach them before sunset," Merrill remarked with a thoughtful frown. "And even if he's not there, at least we won't have to spend the night outside again."

"This weather reminds me of our voyage to Kirkwall," Aveline mused. "It hardly stopped raining during the two weeks we spent in that hold, and we were right under the hatch. I'm never setting foot on a boat again."

"If Isabela ever gets that ship of hers, you should reconsider. She told me how she would decorate her cabin, with damask cushions, sandalwood, and even a tub. She didn't say anything about the bed, though. Just thinking about it would have given her an orgasm, or so she said—"

"Merrill," Aveline winced, glancing at Lily.

"Oh, I don't think she meant it literally. Varric says that leaving something to the imagination of your audience it a good trick to make it sound much better than any description could. Anyway, that ship will probably be luxurious enough to make you forget about this nasty hold you mentioned."

"I'll think about it," Aveline sighed, toying with a half-eaten pear.

* * *

_Knight-Commander,_

_I regret to inform you that I was unable to locate Huon. The leader of the Dalish clan claims that he never sought shelter among them, and I am inclined to believe her. She seemed well aware of the consequences for hiding a known apostate. She did point me to a number of areas around Sundermount where a fugitive might have taken refuge, but I found no trace of him._

_I have, however, dealt with the mage Evelina. As you suspected, she was hiding in Darktown, and the Fereldan children she had been taking care of prior to her joining the Circle knew her exact location. I suspect my status as a former refugee incited them to reveal what they kept hidden from your templars. I was forced to carry out a summary execution when it appeared that she was at risk of possession. I arranged for the remains to be taken to the Lowtown mortuary for cremation, but they will not be disposed of before tomorrow afternoon, should the Order wish to examine them in the meantime._

_As for Emile de Launcet, I intend to interrogate his parents this evening. Maker willing, the situation will be resolved tomorrow._

_Respectfully,_

_Lily Hawke_

* * *

There was an arduous, arid sort of poetry to it. The title was vague, and Meredith didn't know what to expect from its contents when the librarian brought it to her office at her request. Perhaps this was the reason why it had appealed to her; it was the only one the Champion had consulted more than once. A disconcerting read. The only way to describe it would be to say that it was about the Anderfels: the tale of how a certain flower came to bloom only where tears had been shed would give way to a precise depiction of its various alchemical uses, before offering a few pages on the history of a particular family whose coat of arms included a stylised representation of the flower, and whose very name was now forgotten because its last heir had chosen to withdraw from the world, and it was said that in the cave where he dwelled, he would fall into meditations so deep that... The text followed its erudite, meandering paths, from legend to history, medicine, cartography, and it was only when Meredith stopped expecting it to take some sort of clear direction that she understood why one might be inclined to consult such a tome several times. There was something hypnotic about the rustling of stories suggested rather than told, suspended before they could end, giving way to the next one, and the next, all circling around a mute centre.  _The Silence of the Anderfels_. What aspiration, what impulse had led Lily Hawke to open it in the first place? If learning mattered that much to her, would she have been content to live a life of study and contemplation in a Circle, with her sister? What was her freedom of movement worth to her? That last question would inevitably be answered, when the situation became untenable, when double standards broke under their own weight.

"Knight-Commander?"

At first, Meredith didn't recognise Elsa's voice through the door, broken as it was after coughing so much. "What is it?" she asked, setting the book aside. Being disturbed at this hour meant something serious had happened. She steeled herself.

"Knight-Captain Cullen is downstairs. He wants me to inform you that the Champion of Kirkwall has returned with Emile de Launcet."

"Tell him I'll come down right away."

Meredith got up and began to dress, her fingers fastening the straps of her armour with the precision conferred by years of use. She pulled her hood over her head and glanced at the headband left on the dresser, glimmering under candlelight. It wasn't needed, not tonight. Her hand on the doorknob, she paused, closing her eyes for a moment. She knew better than to give in to relief, but it had been so long since anything had gone the way it should.

Cullen was waiting in the hallway.

"Knight-Commander."

"Report," she replied after a quick nod.

"They arrived fifteen minutes ago," he began as they started on the long walk to Templar Hall, the thickness of night barely kept at bay by the torch he was holding. "Emile is unharmed, and drunk, I believe." Meredith raised an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt him. "He seems to have surrendered willingly, but naturally I had him locked up and three of my men are posted outside his cell. He was brought in by two guardsmen, but the Champion sent them back. She's waiting for you."

"I will decide what is to be done with Emile once I have spoken with her. In the meantime, have him searched to make sure he's not carrying anything sharp, and check for scars."

"It's done, Knight-Commander."

"Good. I want you to watch him personally. If he tries anything, do  _not_  waste time sending for me. Am I clear, Captain?"

"As always, Knight-Commander. I put him in cell block nine, so you know where to find me," he added when they reached the first inner courtyard. Meredith nodded and took his torch when he held it out for her. He saluted and left in the direction of the central cell blocks, his shield gleaming briefly before disappearing.

An eerie sight greeted Meredith when she stepped out into Templar Hall. Four of her men surrounded the Champion, silent and unmoving, their torches casting a faint pool of light in the crushing obscurity. Even in daytime, the well formed by the towers all around was so deep that sunlight rarely reached the ground. Had Meredith been a casual observer, she would not have been able to tell whether the young woman was the templars' prisoner, or if they were her bodyguards. It was the first time Meredith saw her wearing her hair down.

Her men stood at attention before she even reached the bottom of the stairs. The Champion uncrossed her arms, and upon getting closer, Meredith understood why her hair was loose. Bruises, a gash hidden by a few bangs, small cuts. At first, Meredith wondered if the young de Launcet had put up a fight, but dismissed the notion: the girl's clothes were impeccable, her hair clean, her bruises at least a day old. And still, no healing spell, although Meredith knew that she was capable of it. Was she trying to make a statement, to prove herself? And for what, so that others would think her harmless, or to bury her own head in the sand?

"Champion."

"Knight-Commander." The young woman presented her with a sealed, ornate envelope. "Guillaume de Launcet asked me to give you this letter, and humbly requests that you take the time to read it before you decide his son's fate."

Meredith swallowed her disgust and took it without a word. She waved the four templars away, but felt like she had been slapped when one of them offered his torch to the girl, who refused with a courteous headshake. How many more humiliations would she have to endure, when this apostate should be on her knees, begging not be dragged off into a cell?  _You're the one who let it come to this_. Meredith had never blamed others for her failures, because dignity was the only thing that allowed her to face them. The girl held her gaze. For a disturbing instant, Meredith saw the same, grave detachment in the Champion's eyes as in her tranquil assistant's. She fought the urge to run a hand across her forehead, a sign of perplexity, of confusion, a gesture she should forbid herself even in the privacy of her office, in the safety of her bedchamber.

"Come," she said quietly, turning away to climb the stairs. She didn't look back to make sure the girl was following her.

With the envelope in one hand and the torch in the other, she couldn't retrieve the key to her office from her sash. She hesitated for a second, and was about to hand the envelope to the Champion, but the girl's hand was already around the torch. Meredith almost yanked it away from her, but the sight of her slender fingers next to her own, gloved ones, stayed her hand. Some things were still uncalled for, despite everything. The girl, however, let go of the torch before Meredith could do the same. Maker, they weren't children. "Please," Meredith sighed, giving her the torch for good, her own weariness mirrored in the Champion's distant nod.

She opened the door and used the flame to light a couple of lamps. Their glow, amplified by glass globes, slowly bathed the room. She offered the girl a seat with a wave of her hand and took her place behind the desk, but remained standing, watching her wince as she sat. Fractured ribs?

"Was it Evelina?"

"Indirectly. I found her in a derelict mining tunnel, and she made it collapse."

"I see. Since you were acting on behalf of the Order, I feel obligated to mention that the Circle's healers will provide any medical assistance you might require.

"That will not be necessary, but I thank you nonetheless."

Meredith gestured towards the letter on her desk. "I will read it as a courtesy, but I have little interest in what the comte de Launcet has to say in his son's defence, and it certainly won't influence my decision the way your report might. I'm listening, Champion."

The girl, who had been leaning on one of the armrests, straightened up slowly. "He came to his mother shortly after his escape. Although the comtesse denied it at first, she admitted to having given him a substantial sum of money, in the hope that he would use it to build a life for himself away from the Circle — a hope that her husband did not seem to share. He had his son followed, and told me where I would most likely find him. Emile had rented a room in a Lowtown inn, and seemed to be enjoying himself in the tavern when I got there earlier this evening. I thought it best to ask the waitress a few questions before I approached him, and according to her, he made no secret of his being a blood mage."

Words failed Meredith, but she pulled herself together quicky. "Are you telling me that everyone in this establishment knew what he was, but that nobody even considered notifying the Order, or at least the City Guard?"

"I don't think any of them took him seriously, Knight-Commander."

"And did you?"

"All I can say is that he did not use magic, forbidden or otherwise, in my presence."

"What did he tell you when you approached him?"

"He took me for a prostitute and offered me gold to spend the night with him." Meredith blinked twice, but said nothing. "When he understood why I was here, he claimed that his previous boasting of his magical abilities had no other purpose than to impress the objects of his attentions." The girl paused, frowning at Meredith's small smile.

"Go on."

"At first, he thought I was here to execute him, and asked me to do it while he was still drunk, then begged for one more night to experience some of the… pleasures the Circle does not offer. I refused, and he came without resistance. I had a guard bring whatever gold and personal effects he had left back to his family."

So practical. "Do you believe him?"

"He has given me no reason to doubt his word, but we both know how little that means."

"True, but having no opinion is a luxury I cannot afford, Champion. His life is in my hands."

"Is that what you ask, Knight-Commander? What I would do, were his life in mine?"

Meredith crossed her arms loosely, leaning against the wall. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her. "Were you in my position, yes."

"Even though he has passed his Harrowing, I believe the circumstances would justify the decision to have him undergo the Rite of Tranquility. He has shown great irresponsibility by escaping, and his surrender is no indication that should another opportunity arise, he would not take it. However, given his family's status in Kirkwall, the long-term consequences of such a decision may be detrimental to the image as well as the finances of the Order. Executing him would probably be perceived as a less controversial response, one that his family, the comtesse in particular, could come to terms with more easily. My knowledge of Circle law is limited, but I believe escaping and claiming to practice blood magic, knowing full well that such an admission cannot be disproved, constitute grounds for execution," she remarked with a questioning look. Meredith nodded. "But either the Rite of Tranquility or a death sentence will be used by those who advocate reform within the Circle, or freedom for mages, to further their cause."

"And would you say this is a risk worth taking?" Meredith was aware that she should be having this conversation with her second-in-command, not this girl. He was the one with whom she should discuss whether principles should outweigh political manoeuvres, the one who needed to learn and be prepared for the task that might one day befall him. But unlike Cullen, Lily Hawke was not her subordinate. Because she neither hindered nor followed, she held the elusive promise of an exchange, something Meredith rarely experienced as Knight-Commander, and even before, as she ascended the Order's strict hierarchy, where one was either above or below.

"Do the boy's actions justify his execution? It is debatable. Do they justify the Rite of Tranquility? I believe so. Do the Order's detractors deserve a pretext to pull into their ranks those who had so far been hesitant to take action? No. Can the strength of the Order only be maintained at the cost of its integrity? I hope not. Your hands are tied, Knight-Commander. If you spare Emile, and simply keep him under close watch, the surface may remain still, but he will never face the consequences that should be his to bear. Whatever you decide, you will lose one thing and gain another."

Meredith shook her head, letting out a brief, joyless chuckle. She wondered how things would have turned out, had Lily Hawke been the one in the office across the hallway. They would never know. A time for everything, a place for everyone, and that was all. She watched the young woman shift in her chair, a barely visible sheen of sweat on her brow the only sign that she was in pain. She should be in an even worse state, after being buried alive. Perhaps she had used magic after all. The girl caught her staring, but didn't return her gaze. Meredith removed her gloves and opened the storage cabinet by the window to retrieve a thin flagon, as well as two small, tulip-shaped silver glasses.

She knew the Champion wouldn't decline, she was too well-mannered for that, but Meredith still waited for that hint of a smile to grace her lips before proceeding. She poured a small amount of the dark spirit into each glass and, after giving one a quick swirl, presented it to the girl. Leaning back against her desk, she held hers near her lips, but did not touch it. The way the young woman held the glass, allowing the liquor to warm against her palm before drinking, told Meredith that her refinement extended beyond the decorum of social obligations. With her, everything became a test, and Meredith was sick of it.

Once the aroma had been given enough time to flourish, trapped within the glass, the girl took in its scent. "What is it?" she asked with an intrigued frown. Meredith didn't answer. "Well, to loose ends, I suppose. Knight-Commander," she added, raising her glass slightly.

"Champion," Meredith echoed, raising hers. They both took a sip.

Meredith gave her an amused look when she saw her wince and take a deep, silent breath to stifle a cough, but caught her appreciative glance. Nevarra's finest spirits were richer than even dwarven liquors, and only revealed their nuances in the wake of a searing descent down the throat. She took the flagon and held it in front of the Champion so she could have a look at the wax seal. The girl read it, then turned her attention back to her drink and took moment to appreciate the aroma again, before going for a second, tentative, lingering sip. Watching her filled Meredith with a sudden, overwhelming sadness. There was nothing to look forward to, only more of the same. They had nothing.

The silence between them grew heavy, and the girl's eyes were onto her. "Thank you. It's excellent," she said before finishing what remained of her drink. She rose from her chair and carefully placed the glass on the desk. "We need to talk, Knight-Commander."

They did. Meredith could have made things clear between them long ago, although she'd known from the beginning that they already were. Still, she supposed it needed to be said, and she couldn't let Lily Hawke take it upon herself to be the one to do so. Being robbed of the initiative was the one risk the Knight-Commander could not afford to take, for control and security went hand-in-hand, and she couldn't surrender one without losing the other.

"No, mage," she said, not unkindly. "I will talk, and you will listen. Your intentions, whatever they may be, your efficiency, your integrity, none of this will ever outweigh any mistake you might make, any doubt I might have. You owe your freedom to an unprecedented political situation, and to the support you have so far given the Order. This is not personal. The restraint you've demonstrated so far is appreciated, but my opinion is irrelevant, and my duty clear." Meredith paused, searching for words that could lift the glaring contradiction between what she had just said and the very way they both rested against the desk, an uncorked flagon of Nevarran brandy between them. The girl was looking at her sideways, her head lowered just enough for her hair to fall on the other side of her face, leaving her neck exposed. On her skin, Meredith could make out the blue shadow of a few, faint bruises. "No matter how civil we are to each other, you must never forget where we respectively stand. You may not be part of the Circle, and I may have required your help to perform a task that should have been assigned to my men, but as Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hold the same authority over you as I do over any other mage. And that includes your apostate friends, the former Grey Warden and the elf."

For the first time, Meredith detected a hint of irritation in the girl's tone. "There is no friendship to speak of, Knight-Commander. I will not answer for these apostates' actions, nor will I allow them to call me a hypocrite for dragging them to the Gallows in your name, unless they commit a crime beyond the one we are already guilty of. They are your responsibility. You know where to find them, and you know I will support whatever course of action you choose to take, but do not expect me to make that decision for you."

"And what happens when the decision concerns you, not others? Will you 'support whatever course of action I choose to take'? Whether you like it or not, freedom was not forced upon you, and unless you turn yourself in and ask to become part of the Circle, we are both responsible. Not in equal measure, but it is your very freedom that holds you accountable. As I said, Kirkwall's political situation makes your integration into the Circle, willing or otherwise, problematic. But there is always a choice, no matter how difficult, and it is never made once and for all." Meredith raised her hand to prevent the young woman from replying. "All I ask is that you do not forget that nothing is certain. Nothing has been granted, or promised, and even though a form of familiarity will inevitably develop from a lasting collaboration, it cannot be mistaken for trust."

The girl let out a barely audible sigh and appeared lost in thought for a moment. "This is only partly true, Knight-Commander. Our collaboration is, in fact, based on trust, but it is one-sided and must remain so. I trust you to do what needs to be done when the time comes, but I'm only able to rely on you as long you don't rely on me. Your lack of trust is my guarantee. You, however, have no such safeguard. Only time will tell who gets the better end of that agreement."

_"When_  the time comes?" Meredith repeated.

Lily Hawke gave her a warning look. Meredith could have felt insulted, but in truth, maybe there was nothing left to say. She couldn't ask for more than what the girl had just given her— not her life, but the irrelevant, invaluable permission to end it.

"The guardsmen you came with, will they escort you back to Hightown?"

"No, I sent them away."

"Then I will have two of my men accompany you," Meredith declared, glancing at the pitch-black sky beyond the window.

"Thank you."

She turned to lift the bottle from the desk and gave the young woman a questioning look. In response, Lily Hawke took a glass in each hand and held them before Meredith, who steadily poured the two drinks. The girl's hands weren't trembling.

* * *

She turned the key slowly to lessen the sound of the lock clicking out of place, and wiped her eyes before pushing the door. She was greeted by silence and embers dying in the hearth. When the expected panting of her dog running down the stairs didn't come, she breathed out a sigh of relief and made her way to her bedroom. She wasn't surprised to see that the fire there had been carefully tended to. She no longer told Orana not to wait for her to retire for the night.

She was cold, and the sudden heat made her shudder. She stood before the fireplace, but the heady dance of the flames and the fading murmur of the Nevarran liquor coursing through her veins forced her to close her eyes. She raised her hand to wipe them again, but she was too tired, so she rested her arm against the mantelpiece instead. A discreet knock on the door. Orana, bringing a soothing infusion, bringing a few words, bringing something.

"Yes."

"Welcome home, mistress."

Lily unclasped her cloak and held it out for the elf, but Orana stopped short of taking it when her gaze fell on Lily's reddened eyes. "Don't worry. Just take this and go to sleep."

Orana opened her mouth, then closed it and took the cloak, but didn't leave. Lily waited.

"Did something happen?" the elf finally whispered.

"There isn't always a reason. Please, go to sleep," Lily replied, putting her hand on Orana's shoulder briefly.

* * *

_Lily,_

_It seems I'll never win. I'm the templar, you're the apostate, and who does the Knight-Commander send to track down those blood mages? Unbelievable. All that's left for you to do is join the Circle, and we'll be closer than ever. Perhaps I'll even get to decapitate you if you fail your Harrowing, although I have a feeling the Knight-Commander would prefer to do that herself._

_Captain Cullen told me you took quite a beating, hunting down Evelina. Maybe you should stick to your books. Biting more than she could chew didn't do Bethany any good, and losing my other sister like this would give Varric way too much tragedy material for his ridiculous stories._

_Get well soon, Champion._

_Carver_


	5. To jettison

"Let's see, folio four to seven, and…," the librarian's assistant whispered, turning the large pages carefully, "folio nine. Those as well, serah?" she added, glancing at the small pile of manuscripts Lily was carrying.

"If you don't mind. I've bookmarked them."

"Here," the assistant offered from across her desk, relieving Lily of her burden to place it on the tray used to move books to and from the scriptorium.

"There is no need to make this a priority, I'm sure you have much to do."

"It's no trouble. I don't think I can finish copying these before the library closes, but it will be done by tomorrow morning."

"I shall see you tomorrow, then. Thank you again."

"You're welcome, serah."

Holding her notes in one hand, Lily fastened her mantle with the other as she walked out of the reading room. The deserted hallways leading to the inner courtyard were now familiar, but Lily came to a halt, casting an embracing glance at her surroundings. Pale rays of morning light fell from the high windows. Her gaze alighted on her notes and she swallowed, her fingers brushing against hundreds of words. She imagined a great gust of wind howling down the hallway, violently snatching the sheets out of her grasp and scattering them like a terrified flock of birds.

As she stepped outside, sunlight found its way between the massive towers and hit a window across the yard in a blinding flash. She looked away, blinking, until her sight returned.

* * *

Meredith caught a glimpse of something in her peripheral vision and turned around, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sudden glare of the sun. Someone was coming out of the east wing, wearing neither armour nor robes.

She watched Lily Hawke close the door behind her, take a few steps on the elevated walkway, and stop at the top of the stairs when she noticed Meredith. They were too far apart to exchange greetings, and there was no reason for either of them to cross the distance. The library had only been opened for an hour, so the girl must have come to retrieve something. Probably the stack of papers she was carrying. If it weren't for her clothing, she would have been the very picture of a studious apprentice, or young enchanter – perhaps heading to the dormitories to drop off the notes she had forgotten in the library the day before, then hurrying to attend the morning service, a few minutes late. Grateful for the vigilance of her guardians, protected.  _Stop it._

The girl ended up nodding in acknowledgement, with a fleeting smile that only deepened the insidious feeling of normalcy Meredith had, for an instant, chosen not to resist. She held back a sigh and returned Lily Hawke's smile.

"Serah Hawke."

They both turned towards the voice. Cullen, a report in hand, was climbing the stairs. He stopped to exchange a few words with Lily Hawke. He hadn't seen Meredith, and she was too far to hear their words, but she didn't need to. She saw the way he greeted her, that respectful familiarity, and how serious she remained, yet he didn't seem to mind. Meredith closed her eyes. How twisted it had all become.

She turned away from them and walked to her office, her heart pounding in her ears. She had been so relieved when Lily Hawke had started spending more time in the library, no longer an apostate, not really a Circle mage, something in-between, a lesser evil. And if the Knight-Commander herself seemed satisfied with the arrangement, then why would her second-in-command, or any of her men, question it? Why wouldn't they welcome the sight of Kirkwall's Champion, a mage whose quiet, restful presence was all they needed to strengthen their wavering resolve?

Meredith sat behind her desk, removing one of her gloves to place a trembling hand on her brow. Hallowed boundaries were blurring, and she was to blame. But what could she do? Deny an apostate the right to enter the Gallows? And the girl's personality, her piety, everything, the very traits that gave such weight to her support of the Order, were working against it at the same time, undermining Meredith's authority, giving those who would see all mages freed from  _templar oppression_  the ultimate argument, the living proof that not all mages needed to be confined. Liars, fools. As if a reasonable apostate was less likely to turn into an abomination, to give in to her demons in the dead of night.

Maker, there was no solution. If only Meredith could get it over with, if only the girl wasn't so controlled, if she could finally surrender and become a monster… then Meredith could put an end to this impossible situation in one swift, clean blow, and show all those who whispered behind her back, questioning her sanity, sowing dissent among her men, how right she had been all along.

She closed her eyes again, exhaling a sigh. No, no, she expected better from herself. Patience, steadfastness were her answers in the face of adversity, not her sword, not secretly wishing for any of the Maker's children to suffer and die just so that she could prove a point. She told herself that a death was always a loss, always a failure, and she prayed fervently, asking only for the strength to believe it or, at least, to live by it.

* * *

The slap echoed obscenely in the still air beneath the Chantry's vaulted ceiling. Isabela raised a hand to her cheek. It didn't hurt.

"If that's all you have to say, I don't want to hear it."

For a fraction of a second, she considered giving as good as she got. Considered wrapping her hands around that neck, squeezing until the bitch turned blue and nothing more could come out of that mouth. But it wasn't a bitch. It was Lily fucking Hawke, nailing her with eyes that betrayed nothing.  _Slapped_. Like a misbehaving dog, like a whore, like a child. Isabela felt like the whole damn place was crumbling all around her.

"You hit me again, Hawke, and I'll slit your throat."

"No, you won't. Pull yourself together."

People were watching. Isabela took a step back, shaking her head. "You're a bloody fanatic."

"Because I finally gave you the reaction you wanted? You know what this place represents. You knew it when you spoke, and you knew what words to use. Was it another bet with Varric, to see how far you could push? Well, you have your answer, and I regret giving it to you. We're done," Lily declared. She began climbing the stairs leading to the Chantry's upper level.

"Damn it, Lily, stop being so rigid! If your life keeps shrinking like that, soon you'll have nothing but books and prayers, and you won't be happier for it."

Lily turned around, one hand resting loosely on the railing. "Books and prayers aren't a way out of the world. They're a way in, an effort to understand. The very effort you refuse to make when you dismiss what I hold dear for the sake of provocation. If you're concerned, find another way to let me know. The door is open."

Isabela watched her go, taking a deep, unsteady breath.

* * *

Elthina took the envelope from Meredith's hand, opened it and examined the list of names it contained.

"Will you knight them yourself, or should I expect Knight-Captain Cullen?"

"I will attend the evening ceremony, but Cullen will oversee the vigil and the accolade," Meredith replied, her eyes fixed on the Chantry's upper floor.

"Very well. What is it, Meredith?" Elthina asked with a frown, following her gaze. "Ah, of course. Does Sebastian's mere presence upset you, or is there something in particular you wish to tell me?"

"As a matter of fact, there is, Your Grace. According to some of my reports, Prince Vael was sighted walking in Hightown in the company of the Champion, at least twice this past month." Meredith paused, but Elthina's face remained unreadable. "I am aware that given their social standing and shared commitment to our faith, they are bound to run into each other here in the Chantry, or at receptions, which is why I have chosen not to intervene so far."

"Aside from assigning men to his surveillance, I take it."

Meredith didn't allow her frustration to show. "Your Grace, surely you understand that I cannot risk this getting out of hand."

"And surely, you understand that as long as Lily Hawke isn't part of the Circle, there is no legal ground for the Order to dictate who she may or may not associate with." Elthina raised a hand to stop Meredith from replying. "Now, I understand your concern, and I admit that should your suspicions be proven true, certain problems would arise."

"Indeed, Your Grace."

"But unless they make their union public, you must not take action, Meredith."

"Public? Unless things are already too far-gone and they suddenly announce their betrothal, which would be the start of a political nightmare with Starkhaven, they have no reason to make anything public. Quite the contrary, in fact, unless a child is involved, at which point the situation in the Gallows will become untenable. Every mage will demand the right to procreate, those that come from noble families will claim their titles, their inherited lands—"

"As I said, I understand your concern," Elthina interrupted with a pacifying gesture that sent Meredith on edge. "Get to the heart of the matter. What is it you are suggesting?"

"Your Grace, I know that Sebastian Vael holds you in high regard. If he happened to confide in you—"

"That is out of the question, Meredith! Whatever Sebastian may have told me in confession is between him and the Maker."

"I am not asking you to break the secrecy of confession, Your Grace," Meredith explained, keeping her face composed but feeling as if she were slamming her head into a wall repeatedly. "I am simply suggesting that should he confide in you, your influence could prevent a disaster in the long run. I would never ask this of you if I could see another way, but as Knight-Commander, I am reaching the limits of my legal powers. Your Grace, the Order  _needs_  your support."

"The Order has my support, Meredith, but those limits to your already considerable power are precisely what you must come to terms with."

 _Maker, not her as well._  Claws of ice wormed their way around Meredith's stomach, clutching tighter and tighter. She swallowed and opened her mouth, but couldn't speak. What would it take, how many more bloodless corpses and shattered phylacteries, how many betrayals within the Order, how many blood mages roaming the streets, for Kirkwall to understand that the drastic measures she had to take were the very sign of her helplessness in the face of an overwhelming, invisible threat? That if they could afford to look away, branding her a tyrant from the safety of their homes, it was precisely thanks to her relentless vigilance?

She almost took a step back when Elthina placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked at Her Grace's grey hair, her grey teeth, her wrinkled lips, forming words Meredith wasn't paying attention to, the flaccid skin of her face, the near-sighted eyes. She swallowed again, nauseated.

"…is difficult, but you cannot control everything. Do what you can, and leave the rest into the Maker's hands. As for Sebastian and Lily Hawke, your concern is legitimate, but at the moment, there is nothing you can do. If it troubles you that much, why don't you ask them directly? Sometimes, the simplest approach works best. I know you have no fondness for Sebastian, but he is a reasonable young man, perfectly capable of understanding your position. It's unlikely he will take offense, if you're diplomatic about it."

"Your Grace, forgive me, but you cannot possibly suggest that I confront them directly. Regardless of their answer, the mere realisation that the Order is taking an interest in their private lives could have dire long-term consequences. You've said it yourself, there is no legal ground for such an investigation. I will not give those who work against us, against me, another opportunity to tarnish the Order's image and sway public opinion to their side. Even if it doesn't come to that, I cannot risk losing the Champion's support. Too many would follow."

"I know, Meredith. And I know you believe that if instead of you,  _I_ were to inquire about their relationship and reason with them if necessary, further complications could be averted. But this is not the Chantry's role, child."

Meredith looked away, focusing on the glow of a hundred votive candles at the feet of Andraste's altar. So, it had come to this. After all these years, Elthina's refusal to take a stand had become a stand in itself, one whose consequences the Grand Cleric refused to acknowledge.  _Acting as a stabilising element_  and  _letting the Maker's unknowable plan run its course_  were no longer acceptable justifications in the current, explosive situation. Meredith took her eyes off the candles and looked at Elthina again. Her Grace was, after all, a tired old woman.

"As you wish, Your Grace. I shall see you tomorrow evening at the ceremony. Good day."

"Meredith." She turned around. "Please, don't do anything rash. If you feel you must act, then do the sensible thing. Talk to one of them. They both support your actions, they will understand your concern."

"I will consider it, Your Grace," she replied evenly.

"They're both here right now, Meredith. The sooner you deal with this, the sooner you can return to more pressing matters."

Meredith stared at her in disbelief. Leashed like a faithful, overzealous guard dog. "Very well, Your Grace." She would handle this humiliation the way she had treated every previous slight on her authority.

Elthina watched her retrace her steps. "If Sebastian isn't in sight, you can probably find him in the living quarters. As for Lily Hawke, she usually sits around here," she said, pointing at one side of the upper level. Meredith, climbing the stairs, answered with a nod without looking at her.

After the brightness of the altar, her eyes struggled to adjust to the subdued lighting of the second floor. Ashen rays of light filtered through the stained glass windows, but didn't reach the rows of empty pews, bathed in marine blue shadows. Meredith pulled her hood back and inhaled the heady scent of incense, trying to quiet her mind, to breathe out the tension from the past few minutes. Curls of smoke rose from below in a hypnotic dance, dispersing on the upper level.

She remained in contemplation for a moment, until her eyes drifted to a lone silhouette sitting on a bench. She shook her head slowly, weariness settling on her shoulders. There was no more rest now, only days blending into nights in endless repetition.

She stopped a few paces behind the bench. The girl was sitting in an upright but relaxed posture, head lowered, hands loosely joined and resting on her thighs. Meredith looked away from her exposed neck, pale in the dim light, once more banishing all thoughts of a quick, clean solution to that living problem. She soundlessly circled the bench until the girl's face was visible. Her eyes were closed. Her mantle, which must have been folded next to her, had fallen on the floor.

Meredith came closer. She envied those to whom prayer was not an act, but a state, those who found refuge within themselves. What did they see? She picked up the mantle and placed it back on the bench. Dark blue, the one the girl had been wearing in the morning. Meredith turned around and walked away.

"Knight-Commander?"

She stopped and looked over her shoulder, sighing inwardly before doubling back. The young woman had already risen from the bench.

"Champion. I didn't mean to interrupt your meditation." The girl shook her head to indicate that it was of no consequence, letting silence fall between them. "Something has come to my attention, that we need to discuss."

"Is it really the place, Knight-Commander?"

"Her Grace seems to think so."

The girl frowned. "Then I take it this matter is of a spiritual nature?"

"Not quite."

"In that case, unless Her Grace deems it suitable to approach me directly, I ask that we discuss it elsewhere."

She was so different from her brother. It was the helpless importance she attached to doing everything in due form, as if put together, these insignificant signs of dignity had the power to keep chaos from getting in, or out — perhaps not even that. Perhaps bringing order to what little she could was the only mark she wanted to leave. Meredith could respect that.

"As you wish."

"Shall I come to the Gallows tomorrow?"

"Not this time, Champion."

Seconds passed, then the young woman nodded and walked away. At first, Meredith thought she was going to leave without a word, but she stopped at the balustrade overlooking the first floor. "I'm sorry you are in such a difficult position, Knight-Commander," she said, studying the altar below.

A brief smile graced Meredith's lips. "Your understanding is appreciated, but it also complicates the situation further, and so does your discretion. When you step into the Gallows, my men no longer see an apostate. They see whoever they want – a welcome ally, an example to their charges, an arbiter. You're not at fault, but I cannot allow this confusion to continue, Champion."

"My support doesn't come with a price, Knight-Commander. There is no need to explain yourself to me."

Had they been anywhere else, Meredith might not have bitten back the scathing retort that immediately rose to her lips. She crossed her arms, not trusting herself to speak, and silence settled upon them once more. The girl appeared thoughtful, as if this was the sort of conversation one could drift in an out of without causing offense. Meredith narrowed her eyes, aware of the widening gap between her own defensiveness and Lily Hawke's occasional, uncharacteristic bluntness. She wondered if what she took as an affront wasn't, in fact, the opposite – an attempt to show respect by placing honesty above caution. And then it occurred to her. She cast a disbelieving glance at the girl. "Are you afraid either one of us will end up as confused as my men?"

"Yes."

Being on the receiving end of such disarming earnestness caught Meredith off-guard. She wasn't someone to share doubts with, or to confide in. "Then the matter we have yet to discuss should allay your fears. I must return to the Gallows, but I am expected in Hightown tomorrow evening. If you have time in the late afternoon, I will come to your estate so we can talk."

The girl finally looked at her. "Very well. If you see the librarian or her assistant today, could you please tell her…" She didn't finish her sentence.

Meredith waited, regretting how abruptly she had ended the conversation. She should have let the girl voice her concerns. "If this is about the pages you were to retrieve, I can bring them to you tomorrow," she ended up offering.

"No, they were only… it doesn't matter."

* * *

Her dog's head shot up from Isabela's lap when he noticed Lily leaning against the door frame. Isabela turned around with a start.

"Shit, how long have you been here?" Lily didn't answer. "I know, I know, you could ask me the same thing. But I didn't break in, as your cute little elf can attest. Do you beat her or something? She seemed really upset that I came up here instead of waiting in that stuffy library of yours."

"I know."

Isabela sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… she needs to cut herself some slack. And that's not going to happen if  _you_  don't start relaxing first."

"It's not up to you, or me, to decide what she needs," Lily replied quietly. Had she been alone, she would have rested her head against the door frame and closed her eyes for a moment. But someone needed her attention, someone who had come to give something she wasn't used to offering, words she needed time to find and time to say.

"Fair enough." Isabela rubbed the dog's belly one last time, then pushed him off her lap and got up. "Look, I didn't come here to fight, or to go over what happened this morning. But you were right about one thing: playing the concerned friend is clearly out of my comfort zone. Unless it involves buying you more drinks than you can handle, but I suspect the only thing I'd manage to get out of you would be your last meal, so I guess we'll talk. About you. Or,  _I_ 'll talk anyway, since you've obviously decided to make this even easier on me by not saying anything — seriously, could you at least take a seat? You're making me nervous, just standing over there like you're going to walk out on me any second."

Lily obliged and went to seat on the ornate trunk at the foot of the bed.

"All right, let's get this over with. I don't really know what's going on with your life, so I may be way off the mark, but you seem… I don't know. Withdrawn. Maybe you're fine, maybe reading, praying and whatever else is important to you is enough. But in case it's not… I'm a shitty listener, but there are others who'd be there for you. Aveline, Chantry Boy, even Fenris. You know that, right? That you're not alone?"

Lily nodded, watching her pace the room slowly.

"Good, good," Isabela went on, biting her lower lip. "The thing is, sometimes, talking is just beside the point. And that's something, the only thing, really, I might be able to help with. If you need it. Balls, I'll just go ahead and ask: are  _all_  your needs taken care of?"

"My—"

"Yes,  _that_ sort of needs. Please, don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. And it's none of my business, I get it. If it's all sunshine and rainbows in that department, I'll be on my way and we can pretend this awkward conversation never happened. But if you're feeling, shall we say, lonely, and that you don't know where to look to… well, I can help you get what you want. Come on, I'm not even sure you understand what I'm talking about. Just say something."

"I know what you're talking about."

"It's hard to tell with you, so I'll say it plain. You're beautiful, you're desirable, surely you're aware of it? All you need to do is go out there — but I know it's not that simple. It takes a certain kind of… lightness, to walk up to whoever strikes your fancy and go for it. So, if you have trouble with that, I can help. Just tell me what you like, or who you like, and I'll arrange it. Tastefully, I promise."

Embers glowed faintly under the ashes. Lily pried her eyes away from the fireplace and returned Isabela's gaze. "Thank you, but I'm not interested."

"Oh really? Not interested in what, exactly?" Isabela asked, running her fingers over the mantelpiece. "I'm not one of your fussy Hightown dandies throwing a party you can afford not to attend as long as the rejection is written on a proper reply card. This is your life we're talking about."

Lily got up. "I've given you my answer."

"To the wrong question. Are you happy, are you satisfied, is something missing and can help you get it, this is what I want to know. No, let me finish," Isabela said, mistaking Lily's silent intake of breath for a sign that she was about to speak. "We have little in common, little of interest to each other. But somehow, despite all these years, all these mistakes, here we are. So please, let me do that for you, Lily. It's not much, it won't solve anything, but don't you think you've earned—"

"This isn't about merit. It's about what I aspire to, and what you're offering isn't it."

Isabela let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine, what is it you 'aspire to'? Do you even know?"

Lily frowned. "There  _is_  something missing, Isabela. And there always will be, for each of us. What I aspire to is to live with that absence, not against it."

"Oh, Lily," Isabela murmured, shaking her head. "Unless you're an old woman with a full, happy life behind you, and no regrets, this isn't wisdom — it's melancholy." She came to a halt in front of Lily and cupped her face between her hands. "Just… stop living in your head for a minute. Your philosophical treaties about man's inability to ever be complete won't vanish because you let someone other than a priest get close to you."

Lily gently broke free of Isabela's hold. "You don't even know what it is you hope to save me from. You would rather rescue me, than try to understand me."

Isabela held her gaze. "I told you, I'm a shitty listener." She went to stand before the hearth. The fire was almost out — Orana hadn't dared come into the room to tend to it while Isabela was there.

"Isabela, I'll be here if you require my help again, but yours isn't wanted, or needed, and above all, it isn't owed. No debt binds you to me. You may be unsure whether leaving once and for all is what you want, but the choice is before you regardless. You must find your own reason to stay or go."

"Yes, well, it's not that simple," Isabela retorted, staring into the fire. "You can't just get rid of all that gratitude, you have to drag it behind you. But you wouldn't know that. You have no interest in anything I or anyone else can give you."

"What I do know is that deciding what you owe yourself is a heavier responsibility than dealing with what you owe others."

"You really know how to turn a conversation around, don't you?" Isabela said after a while. "Anyway, there's at least one thing I can give you back." Lily followed her gaze and noticed the book lying on the bedspread. Her copy of the  _Tales of the Brecilian Forest_. "A little dull for my tastes, but Merrill's retelling made up for it. I showed her the book and she told me her clan's version of some of those stories. Much livelier versions. You should ask her about it, sometime. She left you a special bookmark."

Lily gave her a questioning look, but Isabela only shrugged in response, so she picked up the book and carefully flipped through its pages. There, pressed between two folios, was a dried flower. Andraste's Grace. She briefly held it up into the light, smiling. A beautiful gift, wordless, weightless, barely more than a thought.

"She took a couple of them with her when she left Ferelden. Unless you have it framed, it's going to fall apart pretty soon," Isabela remarked.

"I don't mind. I don't think Merrill would, either."

"Ah yes, the beauty of the ephemeral, or something?"

"Or something," Lily whispered.

Isabela nodded with a small smile. "All right, I'll leave you to whatever fascinating activities usually take up your evenings. If you ever feel like spicing it up, the offer still stands. I'll get you what you need. Yes, what you  _need_ ," she said pointedly. "Everybody has needs, even you, whether you know it or not."

Lily sighed. "Isabela…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. I just… You know, I really can't figure you out, and I'm normally pretty good at reading people. After all this time, I can't even tell if you're a repressed virgin, or just very good at hiding who you sleep with, or if you just don't care." Lily didn't bother replying and took a step towards the door, but Isabela caught her by the wrist, causing her to drop the book she was still holding. "No, wait! I wasn't trying to provoke you. Well, maybe I was, but I do want to understand. It's not just concern, you… puzzle me." She bent down to pick up the book and handed it back to Lily, who didn't take it. "Look, I'm sorry."

"I know," Lily said calmly. "Just go."

Isabela closed her eyes for a moment. "The stories we tell ourselves," she chuckled dejectedly. "I thought you just needed someone to teach you how to have fun, to tell you there's no shame in pleasure, but… it's just not the point, is it? Shit, you make me feel like such a child."

Lily sat on the edge of the bed. Isabela shook her head again and placed the book next to her. "Will you be all right?" she asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Lily's ear. Lily nodded, catching Isabela's hesitation and returning it with a brief warning look. After a moment, the woman simply turned away and left.

* * *

The estate's door closed behind her. She raised her head to breathe in the evening air, catching a whiff of the sea. Humming to herself, she wandered the silent streets. Had she forgotten something at Lily's? Nothing she could think of, but she felt oddly empty-handed. It was nice. As a captain, she'd always felt better when her ship was empty – no cargo to deliver, no booty to worry about, just wind in the sails.

She reached a flight of stairs overlooking the last of Hightown's marble fortresses, and beyond, Lowtown's sandy maze. She took a seat on the highest step. Now what? Leave again, to chase a boat that would never take her far enough? Stay? To gain what, to offer what? She unsheathed her dagger and held it up to use the blade as a mirror. She touched her cheek – there wasn't even a mark. They were wrong, Aveline, Varric, all of them. Their sad little saint didn't want their awkward support, their evenings at the Hanged Man, their visits, their damned flowers on her mother's grave. They'd been the ones clinging to her all along. She had indulged them, without ever needing them. What a waste. Time to let go. Time to give and time to take for nothing, for free.

* * *

Lily opened the book. She found the bookmarked page and set the flower aside delicately.  _"… under the willow sprang the Fountain, the marvel of marvels, the source of all tales. There she knelt, and dipped her hand into the boiling waters. They grew still, and turned to ice."_


End file.
